


Not a Crush

by flammable_grimm_pitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1970s, Boarding School, Childhood Friends, Dreams and Nightmares, Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), Mild Language, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Period-Typical Homophobia, Quidditch, Rock and Roll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26256148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flammable_grimm_pitch/pseuds/flammable_grimm_pitch
Summary: When Regulus Black is sorted into Gryffindor, he makes fast friends with one of his older brother's closest mates. As they get older, that dynamic shifts towards something a bit more than friendly.
Relationships: Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Regulus Black/Remus Lupin, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin
Comments: 9
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The sorting ceremony doesn't go quite as well as anticipated; Remus saves Regulus' skin.

_“Friendship improves happiness and abates misery by doubling our joys and dividing our grief.”_

\- Marcus Tullius Cicero

* * * * *

**September 1, 1972**

As the first year students filed down the centre of the Great Hall, Remus Lupin craned his neck above the heads of his classmates in order to get a glimpse of Sirius Black’s younger brother, who was beginning his first year at Hogwarts today. Their friend James had met the youngest Black once or twice, and had informed Remus that the boy, 11-year-old Regulus, was nearly a spitting image of Sirius at the same age. There were too many dark-haired children for Remus to single him out amongst the crowd, but the sorting ceremony would begin in just a few minutes, and that would be Remus’ best opportunity to get a good look. 

The awed gasps of the Muggleborn first years had Remus grinning. His father had attended Hogwarts before him and told him plenty of stories of his days at the school, but it had still come as a surprise when Remus had glanced up at the ceiling on his first evening in the castle to find the starry night sky in place of a ceiling. The candles bewitched to levitate above the dining tables were another component of the enchanting atmosphere at Hogwarts, as were the translucent apparitions floating about the castle – spectres of important historical persons that had once called the school ‘home’. 

Professor Minerva McGonagall spent a minute directing the new students to gather in the open area below the dais before raising her voice and projecting it down the length of the Great Hall, calling the entire student body to attention. She invited Headmaster Dumbledore, the white-haired man in bright-coloured robes seated at the centre of the faculty table, to open the ceremony with a few words (of which Remus heard very few). His eyes had shifted to Sirius, whose stolid posture reminded those around him of his aristocratic heritage. Remus hated to see him looking so stiff and pretentious, but knew it couldn’t be helped; he had been raised as the heir to the _Noble and Most Ancient House of Black,_ after all. 

The raven-haired third year chewed absentmindedly at his lower lip, lost in his thoughts. When asked earlier if he was worried about the outcome of his brother’s sorting ceremony, Sirius had feigned apathy, but as one of his closest friends, Remus knew better. Though Sirius did his best to have as little to do with his family as possible, it was clear that cared deeply for young Regulus, and wanted nothing more than to protect the boy from the arduous upbringing Orion and Walburga Black had in store for their two sons. 

One of the prefects at the Gryffindor cleared his throat loudly in an attempt to put a stop to the quiet chatter amongst some of the younger students, but succeeded instead in startling Remus, who turned his eyes and attention back to Headmaster Dumbledore. 

“Please note that the Dark Forest is strictly forbidden to all students,” the elderly wizard continued his greetings, gazing at the hall filled with eager young scholars over the frames of his half-moon spectacles. “And that the use of tobacco and other smoking products on school grounds is no longer permitted. That will be all.” 

The students clapped politely, mostly out of thanks that the white-bearded wizard had spared them an even lengthier speech. They wanted to get the sorting over with, and the feast underway. Remus cursed under his breath at the new smoking restriction, which meant that he and Sirius would have to come up with a new plan for hiding the cigarettes they shared on occasion. 

The deputy headmistress, garbed in a velvet emerald cape over her black robes, took her place up front once again. She held a worn grey-brown hat in one hand, and a scroll of parchment in the other. The pair of striped feathers tucked into the band of own pointed hat twitched as she turned her head, sweeping her gaze over the wide-eyed first years before her. 

“When I call your name,” McGonagall instructed the new students, “You will come forth, I shall place the Sorting Hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your houses.” 

Her directions seemed simple enough, but Remus remembered nearly tripping on the three shallow stone steps that led up to the dais where the auburn-haired professor stood waiting. Sirius had sweat through his robes at the prospect of joining his “dreadful” cousins on the far side of the hall at the Slytherin table, but to his relief, he had become the first ever member of the Black family sorted outside of Slytherin, joining Remus and James in Gryffindor. 

“Regulus Black,” was the first name on McGonagall’s list. Remus watched with intense curiosity as a short, slender boy strode confidently up the steps, seated himself on the stool beside McGonagall with his head held high, and waited with bated breath for the hat to be placed on his head. From afar, he did look quite similar to how Remus remembered Sirius looking on the day they had met: bright-eyed and effortlessly beautiful. 

The hall went dead silent, and all eyes were on Regulus. Though his parents were not in attendance, it was common knowledge that the boy was expected to trade in his black Hogwarts tie for one of green and silver – that is, to be sorted into Slytherin, unlike his “traitorous” brother. Sirius had received a vicious Howler from his mother by owl post the morning after his own sorting, to the horror (but not surprise) of the Hogwarts faculty. There was a lot riding on Regulus’ shoulders, but he masked his anxiety well. 

As soon as the hat touched the boy’s head, it began to twitch as it probed deeply into Regulus’ mind. His grey eyes blinked occasionally, but his expression remained otherwise blank. 

_This is curious,_ Remus thought to himself. _If the hat had an easy decision to make, it would have announced its choice right away._ Instead, it was nearly a full minute before Regulus’ eyes fluttered closed and all the blood drained from his face, leaving him white as a sheet. Remus didn’t need to hear the hat’s voice to know what its decision would be; Regulus’ expression was enough. 

“GRYFFINDOR!” 

As had been the case at Sirius’ sorting, a cheer rang out from the Gryffindor table, but the Slytherins remained silent. Sirius and James hooted and hollered, shouting Regulus’ name as the boy made his way down to the far left side of the hall, his eyes trained on his ground ahead of him. The eldest Black was too busy high-fiving his housemates in celebration to notice the subtle slowing of Regulus’ footfalls as he approached the Gryffindor table. Remus, however, recognized immediately that something was awry. 

He pushed himself up from the table and hurried towards Regulus, who appeared to be grabbing for something with which to hold himself up, but to no avail. Professor McGonagall was calling for order from the rowdy Gryffindors, who were oblivious to the youngest Black’s sudden distress. 

“Hey, are you alright?” Remus asked, slowing as he came within a few feet of the boy. The first year glanced up at the sound, his face green with nausea. He opened his mouth to answer, but didn’t get the chance; his eyes rolled back into his head and his body went slack as he lost consciousness. If Remus hadn’t been so close, Regulus might have struck his head on the flagstone floor of the Great Hall; instead, Remus caught him by the shoulders as he pitched forward. 

“Help!” Remus said, raising his voice and garnering the attention of the students still seated at the table nearby. “Someone fetch Madam Pomfrey. I think he’s fainted!” Regulus was dead weight in his arms, but Remus managed to set him down gently and roll him onto his back. There was a flurry of activity and noise happening nearby, but Remus blocked it all out as he set to work caring for Regulus. 

“Regulus, my name is Remus. Are you alright?” he asked, rubbing his knuckles against the flat bone of Regulus’ sternum. When he received no response, he put two fingers to Regulus’ throat, and was relieved to find a strong pulse. Next, he gently thrust the boy’s jaw upwards with one hand to keep his airway open, and leaned forward to see if he could feel a breath against his ear, as he had learned in a basic lifesaving course offered at the village lido over the summer. 

“Fuck, Moony, what’s wrong with him?” Sirius’ panicked voice broke the bubble of concentration surrounding Remus. He had vaulted over the table after hearing Remus’ shout for help, not caring that he had knocked over several goblets of pumpkin juice in the process. “Reg, wake up, you’re alright.” 

“Don’t yell at him, Pads,” Remus chastised gently, shifting back onto his knees. “He’s breathing, and he’s got a heartbeat. We just need to give him a moment.” He snatched the felt cap Sirius was wringing in his hands, folded it in half, and tucked it under Regulus’ head as a pillow of sorts. “Madam Pomfrey will be here right away, and she’ll—” 

He didn’t even have the chance to finish his sentence before the matron of the Hogwarts infirmary appeared at his side, her white starched wimple swishing around her head. She knelt down on the ground, calmly ordered the nearby students to move elsewhere, and turned to Remus for an explanation. 

“What’s happened here, Mister Lupin?” she inquired, pulling her wand from one of her apron pockets. As Remus recounted the situation, the matron cast a series of simple diagnostic charms over Regulus in order to get a better picture of his health status. 

“You’ll be alright, Reg,” Sirius murmured as he brushed a lock of hair back from his younger brother’s forehead. “I’ll keep you safe. Don’t even worry about them.” At first, Remus thought his friend was instructing his brother to ignore himself and Madam Pomfrey. He shuddered at the realization that Sirius was promising to protect Regulus from their _parents_. 

“I think he’s just had a bit of a shock, Mister Black,” Madam Pomfrey told him gently. “I’ll have you both step back, please, so I can take him up to the hospital wing. You can go back to your seats now – the feast will begin shortly, and I’m certain you won’t want to miss it.” 

“No!” Remus and Sirius both vehemently objected; they were not leaving Regulus’ side. Madam Pomfrey gave the boys a withering glare, but they held their ground. With a shake of her head and a sigh, she waved them ahead, giving them permission to accompany her upstairs. 

“Remus, be a dear and stop by the kitchen on your way up,” she requested as she cast a silent levitation charm on Regulus’ slumbering body. “Have the elves send up dinner for you, Sirius, and myself, if you would, please.” Regulus remained horizontal as he rose into the air, stopping to hover at waist height as though there were an invisible stretcher beneath him. Remus had seen the matron perform this bit of magic before, but he still marvelled at the control she was able to maintain. He had a long way to go with his own _Wingardium leviosa_ if he ever wished to use it for such a purpose. 

When the group reached the Entrance hall, they parted ways. Remus made for the staircase that lead down to the kitchens, while Sirius accompanied the matron and her ward up the grand staircase to the hospital wing. The ceremony in the Great Hall appeared to have resumed without issue based on the applause echoing out into the corridors beyond. 

When he reached a large portrait featuring a bowl of fruit, located down the corridor from the Hufflepuff common room, Remus reached out with his index finger and tickled the green-yellow pair. The fruit let out a giggle before the portrait swung outwards, revealing a large cavernous room bustling with activity. The scents of cooked meat and pastries were enough to entice Remus into entering. 

“And what does young Master Lupin think he is doing in the kitchens when he is meant to be upstairs at the sorting ceremony?” Asked an elderly elf dressed in a repurposed flour sack, whose attention Remus had drawn by appearing at the door. 

“Um, hello,” Remus said, giving the elf an awkward wave. “Er—Madam Pomfrey would like three meals to be sent up to the hospital wing, please and thank you. One of the new students got a bit peaky during the ceremony, and had to be brought upstairs for the matron to have a look at. The boy’s brother and I are staying with him.” The elf narrowed its enormous eyes at Remus for a moment, perhaps sussing out whether or not he was telling the truth. 

“Minty will ensure the young masters and the madam receive food in a timely manner,” the elf answered with a single nod, “Though it may come later than it does to the Great Hall. Minty and her staff are very busy, Master Lupin, as you can see.” 

“Yes, of course,” Remus agreed, smiling down at her. “You’re all doing a bang-up job, Minty. I’m sure everyone upstairs will be very pleased, and we appreciate your hard work very much.” 

“Master Lupin is too kind, sir,” Minty insisted, but Remus caught the hint of a smile on her lips as the elf shooed him back out into the corridor. “Come back again when we aren’t being so busy, sir, and Minty will find a treat for the young master.” 

“Thank you, Minty,” Remus repeated, tossing one last wave over his shoulder as he hurried back toward the staircase. 

He had emptied his thoughts of the Black brothers while he was attending to the task the matron had assigned him, but as he ascended the stairs into the entrance hall, Remus allowed himself to compare the two boys. Setting aside the difference in age, Regulus’ features were softer than his brother’s – his cheekbones and jaw less angular, though that could change when he reached puberty. Sirius had longer hair, and his eyes were a sharper blue-grey. Both boys shared their father’s aquiline nose (which was not nearly as hooked as Snape’s, Remus was pleased to say), and their lips held the same natural pout. 

When Remus reached the hospital wing, he saw that Madam Pomfrey had settled Regulus into the bed closest to her office on the left side of the room. Sirius was casually settled into a chair at his brother’s bedside, one ankle resting atop the opposite knee. He looked up at the sound of Remus’ approach, greeting him with a strange smile. 

“Still out cold?” Remus inquired, pulling up another chair and seating himself to Sirius’ left, facing the bed. 

“Pomfrey says it might be a while,” Sirius answered, shrugging. “Says his mind is probably in shock.” 

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Remus nodded. “I’ve never seen someone react like that during a sorting ceremony. Was like all the blood drained right out of him.” 

“I can understand his surprise,” Sirius commented, mindlessly bouncing his foot as they chatted. “One Gryffindor in the family was an outrage, but two…they’ll be furious. Can’t even really imagine what they’ll say. They can’t disown us both, but I’m sure they’ll make it sound like they plan on it.” 

“He looked terrified. I’m sure he was imagining the worst,” Remus sighed. Sirius turned his body towards his friend and regarded him curiously. 

“I was watching him, but I swear I had only looked away for a moment,” he recalled. “How did you manage to catch him like that? I didn’t even see you get up.” 

This was the question Remus had been quietly dreading. How was he supposed to admit to watching his friend’s brother like a hawk without it sounding strange? He hadn’t intended to be creepy about it – it wasn’t like he had a crush on Regulus (the kid was 11, for goodness’ sake, and he’d not even met the boy) – but it would probably come across as weird if he tried to explain himself. 

“I don’t really know,” Remus said slowly, his brows drawing together. “It was as though I could tell something bad was going to happen. My spidey senses were tingling, y’know?” 

“Your what now?” Sirius questioned, confused. “What the hell are ‘spider senses’? Are you an acromantula as well as a werewolf now?” This had Remus laughing, though he knew Sirius wasn’t trying to be funny. 

“Shut up, Black,” he said, bumping shoulders with his friend. “There’s this Muggle comic book – you know, like a little magazine with pictures and a story? I showed you one last year—” 

“Ohhh, the picture book about that rich bloke who fights crime dressed as a bat?” Sirius recalled. He dropped his voice as low as he could and growled, “I’m Batman.” 

“It’s a _comic book,_ not a _children’s picture book_ ,” Remus corrected with a chuckle, “But yes, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. So there’s another series about a character called Spider-Man who also fights crime, but he’s got actual superpowers because he was bitten by a radioactive spider.” 

“So what, he can shoot webs out his arse, or what?” Sirius asked, grimacing. “That sounds disgusting, Remus. Muggles come up with the most ridiculous stories.” 

“Not out his _arse_ , you pillock,” Remus snorted, whacking Sirius’ arm with the back of his hand. “He can climb up walls, and he’s got super strength, and he shoots webs _from his wrists_ so he can swing from building to building. _As I was saying_ ,” he attempted to redirect Sirius’ attention, “Spider-Man has this special power that tells him when something bad is happening somewhere nearby, sort of like when something gets caught in a spider’s web, and they can find the bug that’s trapped because of the vibrations in the web. Y’know?” 

“This all sounds very complicated to me,” Sirius admitted. “I think I understand, though. You just felt like something bad was going to happen to Reg, so you got up from the table and…went to him?” 

“Yes, I went and asked if he was alright, and then he just sort of…went limp. I caught him before he could hit his head or something,” Remus said, tangling a hand into the thicket of tawny curls above the nape of his neck. It was something he tended to do when he was nervous, and he certainly was. 

Sirius wasn’t asking the questions he was most nervous about answering, though: _Why were you staring at my brother earlier,_ and _Why are you so fidgety right now,_ and _Why does your face get all red every time you look at him when I’m around?_ Remus didn’t have good answers for those questions, so if Sirius was thinking them, he appreciated that his friend wasn’t asking. 

Madam Pomfrey came out to check on Regulus every twenty or so minutes, but he continued to sleep for the better part of the evening. When a house elf arrived with plates of dinner, the two third-years tore into it with voracious appetites, but apart from that, they hadn’t much to occupy their time. About a half hour before curfew, the matron told them they would need to head off to bed, because they would need their sleep if they were to attend classes the following day. 

“After all,” she said before turning in for the night, “You’ll be of no use to Mister Black here if you’re too exhausted to help him get settled in once he’s feeling well again.” This was good sense, and both boys knew it. Sirius ruffled his brother’s hair before taking his leave. 

“I’ll catch up in a moment, alright?” Remus promised, waving his friend off. “I’ve got to talk to the matron for a moment. The full’s coming up next weekend, y’know.” Sirius bought the excuse and hurried off to Gryffindor Tower, recalling his promise to James about spending some time planning their first prank of the year. Remus waited until the door closed behind his friend before moving to stand at Regulus’ bedside. The pale child looked even younger when he was asleep, Remus thought. 

“I know we haven’t officially met, yet,” he murmured, “But I hope we can be friends, you and I. Sirius talks about you all the time – barely shuts up about you, really.” For a moment, Remus thought he saw the boy’s eyelids flutter, but it was probably just a trick of the light. The waxing moon shone down through the window above, and golden-orange flames flickered in the sconces lining the walls of the hospital wing, illuminating the almost empty space. 

“It’s alright if you’re scared – not getting sorted into Slytherin, and all,” Remus assured the sleeping boy. “People say we’re supposed to be brave, us Gryffindors, but to tell you the truth, I’m scared all the time. We’ll watch out for you, though – Sirius, James, Pete, and I, that is – because that’s what brothers and friends are for. Your parents can send a thousand Howlers if they want, but we’ll never let them hurt you, not while you’re here at Hogwarts with us.” 

Regulus’ head swivelled towards the sound of Remus’ voice, scaring the third-year half to death. He jumped backwards, just managing to hold back a scream. When he looked down at Regulus again, the boy’s grey eyes were trained on him, watching him curiously. 

“Hello,” he croaked, shifting himself onto his side. 

“H-how are you feeling?” Remus wondered hesitantly. “You gave us all a right scare for a minute there, you know.” 

“I’ve been better,” Regulus admitted. “I was waiting for Sirius to leave so I might have a minute to talk to you alone.” 

“Have you been awake this whole time?” Remus asked, frowning. Regulus’ eyes shifted downwards, away from the third year’s probing gaze. “Why didn’t you say something earlier? We could have sent for some dinner for you.” 

“I…I didn’t know what to say. To Sirius,” he clarified, biting his lip thoughtfully. “He thought I’d end up in Slytherin, same as my parents did, and I didn’t know what to say when I didn’t. And I still haven’t figured out what to say.” 

“Well, then don’t say anything about it,” Remus suggested. “S’no one else’s business, whatever you discussed with the sorting hat. You’re a Gryffindor either because the hat saw it in you, or because you asked for it, and that’s no one’s concern but your own.” 

“So what, I should just ignore him if he asks?” Regulus’ voice was thick with hesitation. 

“Sure, I do it all the time,” Remus shrugged. “Works well enough for me.” Regulus considered this for a moment before turning his eyes back to the older boy at his bedside. 

“Why are you being nice to me?” he wondered aloud, his eyes trailing over Remus’ scarred visage. “You don’t even know me. I could be terrible, like…” He didn’t finish his sentence, knowing that Remus could likely fill in the blank himself. _Like my parents._

“Perhaps,” Remus admitted. “When I saw you tonight, though, you looked as though you could use a friend. Someone who doesn’t care who you are outside of Hogwarts.” 

“And you don’t care?” Regulus asked, raising one dark eyebrow. “You don’t care that I’m a Black? That I’m a pureblood?” _That my family hates people like you?_

“Didn’t even really know what any of that meant before I came to school and met Sirius,” Lupin said, a smile twitching at his lips. “I told him I didn’t care if he was the Minister for Magic. I choose my friends because they’re good people, not because they’re wealthy, or that they come from a family that considers themselves important because they had magical parents.” 

Regulus closed his eyes for a minute, taking in the offer Remus was making. What would it be like to have a friend who liked him for his personality, instead of for how they might benefit from the relationship? He had no idea, really. His mother and father had chosen his friends for him, selecting only children from families like their own. He’d never been permitted to spend time with the Muggle children who lived next door, though he had often watched them play in the street from his bedroom window. He had asked his mother only once if he might be allowed to go to the park if Sirius accompanied him, but the swift slap that had served as her response had been lesson enough to discourage him from ever asking again. 

Sirius had mentioned before that his friends had never cared about the family name, but Regulus hadn’t actually believed him; everyone _he_ knew had always cared. At times, being a Black felt more like a curse than a privilege. 

“Okay,” Regulus decided, opening his eyes again. Lupin had knelt down beside his bed so as to speak to him at eye-level. “If you really mean it, then yes, we can be friends.” 

“I do mean it, but I have one condition,” Remus told the boy gravely. 

“Oh?” Regulus asked. This whole offer of friendship without expectation was falling apart faster than he’d thought it would. No one ever offered anything for free, as his father had told him repeatedly. He should have guessed that this boy would want something from him, too. 

“I know your parents have plenty of thoughts about what makes a person a ‘real’ wizard or witch – their blood status, that is,” Remus acknowledged, “And I don’t expect your understandings and beliefs to change in a day – that will come with meeting people here at school that challenge what you’ve been taught. But if we’re to be friends, then I’ll not hear you using words that demean others because of their blood status. Not “mudblood”, not “blood traitor”, none of it. In Gryffindor, we judge people based on their character and behaviour, _not_ on who their parents are or what sort of family they were raised in.” 

This hadn’t been what Regulus had expected to hear. 

“Oh. Well, alright,” Regulus agreed after a moment, seeing that this was actually a rather reasonable request – a request that had him begging the question: “When Sirius first came here, did he…use words like that?” 

“Sirius learned his lesson quickly,” was all Remus had to say on the matter. “Now, close your eyes and get some rest. I’ve got to get back to the dormitory before a prefect catches me out after hours. I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow, if you’re feeling better.” He dusted off his robes where his knees had touched the floor, and turned to leave. 

“Remus?” A quiet voice called out before he reached the door of the hospital wing. 

“Yes?” he replied, turning to glance over his shoulder. Regulus was sitting up in bed, watching him carefully. “What is it?” 

“Thank you again, for everything,” Regulus murmured, just loud enough for Remus to hear. 

“You’re welcome,” Remus nodded, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “G’night.” 

“Good night,” Regulus repeated, his eyes following Remus’ retreat. When he reached the door, Remus pulled out a folded square of parchment, which he tapped with his wand. From afar, Regulus couldn’t see what was on it, but if he had to guess, he imagined it must be the map Sirius had told him about during the summer – the map that detailed secret passages, and the locations of every staff member and student in the school. 

A wave of calm washed over Regulus at the knowledge that Remus would get back to his dormitory safely. The last thing the young boy wanted was for his new friend – the first _real_ friend that he’d made without his parents’ input – to get into trouble because of him. Lying back down in bed, Regulus tucked the blankets around himself, and then closed his eyes for the night. For the first time in years, he fell asleep with a smile on his lips.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus attends an early morning Quidditch practice; a divination assignment reveals something Remus has been trying not to think about.

_There is nothing material that measures against the intangibles of friendship and love._

__

__

– R.A. Salvatore

**October 1973 // Saturday**

The sun was barely above the horizon when Remus shuffled his way along the front bench of the center-most spectator stand, wrapped in a thick knit jumper he’d received as a Christmas gift last year. It was already a bit short in the arms, but in combination with his scarf, Remus supposed the jumper would serve its purpose well enough. Before taking his seat, he pulled a slim, worn paperback from the back pocket of his jeans. He would probably only get through a few pages, but it was easier to explain that he had “been reading” when asked why he insisted upon attending every Saturday practice when he wasn’t particularly interested in Quidditch.

As usual, Remus was alone; the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Randall King, swore that 7:30 was the best time to book the pitch for practice, but no one else agreed. Based on the groggy expressions on the faces of the students in red and gold practice robes on the field below, Remus guessed that the other members of Gryffindor’s team took umbrage with the early practice times as well. The first week, Peter had joined Remus to provide “moral support” (Remus’ words) to James and Sirius, who had earned the positions of Chaser and Beater, respectively, in this year’s tryouts. After that first week, Peter had refused to show up to any more practices, citing his preference for not having to narrowly avoid being murdered by bludgers before breakfast had even been served. 

And so, Remus sat alone, pretending to read his book as he watched the new Seeker work on increasing his speed and agility, whilst the rest of the team ran strategic drills. This morning, Regulus seemed looked eager to get started for the day. His black hair was tied back in a bun to match his older brother’s, and he clutched in his hand the broom he had purchased himself through the Diagon Alley owl-order service in the first week of the school year. 

Orion Black had refused to support either of his sons’ plans to join Gryffindor’s team, so the purchase of decent brooms had been strictly prohibited during the Blacks’ annual before-school shopping trip. Adamant that he not be forced to use the ancient Cleansweep models the school had to offer, Regulus had set aside every knut and sickle sent his way by his Uncle Alphard (who knew very well that his sister and brother-in-law were withholding spending money from his nephews) in order to make the purchase. Sirius, the lucky bastard (Regulus’ own words), had been gifted one of James’ brooms after Mr. Potter had “gone through the storage shed and found a spare”. Regulus had mentioned his jealousy to Remus in passing one day at dinner, and the 14-year-old secretly agreed that the situation was unfair. 

Nevertheless, Regulus had a functional, high-quality broom, which he was learning to control beautifully, according to his teammates. Remus had Randall King praising the young Seeker in the common room one evening, and had felt proud at hearing that the boy’s practice was paying off. In the year since the two had met, Remus and Regulus had become fast friends, due in large part to their equally quiet demeanours, a shared interest in academics, as well as their mutual affection for Sirius. 

Remus could see that Regulus was becoming a first-rate flyer, and on this particular morning, watched with a smile as the second-year zipped past him in the stands, slaloming between the taller spectator boxes as fast as he could safely do so. He wouldn’t be allowed to even _see_ the Snitch in practice until Randall felt confident that Regulus could manoeuvre quickly and effectively around the stationary objects on the field (goal hoops, stands, etc.) at high speed, and without running into them. The Snitch, though it seemed sentient, did not take into account the proximity of other players or structures as it flitted around the pitch. It might take only one misjudgement of depth perception to put a Seeker out of commission for the remainder of the season, and this was not a setback Gryffindor could afford if they wanted to do well in the Quidditch Cup this year. 

Like his brother, Regulus was a natural on a broom. He had the quick reflexes required to make sudden changes in altitude, and he was a good judge of distance and proximity, enabling him to safely navigate around teammates and opponents. The grace with which he flew was astonishing, especially for a student in his first year playing for the team. 

He and Sirius hadn’t had much opportunity for flying as children, Remus had learned, because they lived in a high-traffic area of London, and didn’t have a very large garden to play in. Their mother had disapproved of the boys playing outside, not wanting them to get their clothes dirty. Children from a family as wealthy and well-respected as the Blacks were expected to act with decorum at all times, so the ribald language and horseplay that often accompanied the scrimmage games of other magical children made Sirius and Regulus’ participation out of the question. 

As that morning’s practice progressed, Remus eventually lost track of Regulus on the pitch. This wasn’t of huge concern to him, as Randall King was a rather unconventional team captain who liked to assign alternative practice drills to team members in order to challenge their skills and abilities. Remus had finished a full page of his book by the time he located Regulus again. 

“What chapter are you on?” Regulus’ bored voice sounded behind Remus. Dropping the book in surprise, Remus spun around to find the smiling boy hanging upside down from his broom just a few feet away. 

“Merlin, you scared me!” Remus chastised, frowning at his young friend. “Give me a heart attack, why don’t you? I know you want to be able to read whatever you like from the library without having to wait for me to finish it, Reg, but you don’t have to _off me_ to get your way.” 

“Easy there, Remus,” Regulus laughed. “Only wanted to see how you’re enjoying the beautiful weather this morning.” He adjusted his grip on the broom handle as he waited for the dry remark he would inevitably receive in reply. 

“S’brilliant,” Remus said, sniffing. His nose and cheeks were rosy in the cool of the morning, and he had been working double-time to catch the drips from his nose with the handkerchief he kept stuffed in his front pocket. “Almost t-shirt weather, wouldn’t you say?” 

“You know very well I’ve never worn a _t-shirt_ ,” Regulus scoffed. “Mother would have skinned me alive. I’m not sure how Sirius gets away with such a thing.” 

“You could borrow one of mine sometime,” Remus answered, realizing how odd the offer probably seemed only after the words had left his mouth. “Er—I mean, if you wanted to see what it’s like, on a weekend, of course. If you want.” With a tight rolling motion, Regulus righted his broom so that he was oriented in the same plane as Remus. He regarded the older student with furrowed brows as he weighed the pros and cons of the awkwardly worded offer. 

“Sure, that would be…ace,” Regulus said, trying out the slang he had heard being used around the common room. “Can I come grab one after practice today, maybe? I can’t next weekend, because it’s Sirius’ birthday, and I’ve got to attend that awful luncheon my parents are insisting on us having with our cousins – in _dress robes,_ if you can believe it.” The boy shuddered at the very thought of it – less because he didn’t like to dress up, and more because Sirius would almost certainly cause a scene by showing up in something that was decidedly _not_ dress robes just to make their mother angry. 

“Sure, I’ll wait for you after practice, and we can walk up to the common room together,” Remus offered. “If that works for you, of course.” 

“Alright, then,” Regulas agreed. “I’ve got to get back to practice before Randall sees me faffing about, but thanks for coming to watch me, Remus. I really appreciate it.” Remus’ cheeks flushed even redder as he attempted to form a coherent response. 

“Wha—well, I’m here because – well, James and Sirius are on the team as well,” he choked out, “So I’m here to support them as well, mind you.” Regulus pressed his lips together in a straight line, but he couldn’t keep his bright eyes from twinkling and creasing at the corners as they always did when he smiled. 

“Of course, of course,” the boy said good-naturedly. “They’ve been doing well this morning, haven’t they?” 

“Yeah, brill,” Remus replied, nodding for much longer than was necessary. Regulus smirked, but he gave his friend a wave before racing off towards the other end of the pitch, where Randall King was calling for the team to gather by the goal hoops. 

It wasn’t until he and Regulus made it back to the dormitories in Gryffindor Tower that Remus realized the reason for the boy’s mirth: James and Sirius had slept through practice after staying up late the night before making mischievous plans to “spice up” the All Hallows’ Eve celebration that would take place the following week. Remus hadn’t even noticed the drawn curtains around their beds when he had stumbled out of the room that morning. 

Not having been in the locker room before the practice, he hadn’t heard Randall’s speech to the rest of the team about the importance of making sleep a priority if they wanted to win. The pair of truants would make up for their absence next weekend by polishing all the broom handles _by hand_ after practice. 

Regulus made no comment on the matter, choosing instead to quietly rifle through the collection of shirts Remus had folded up in his trunk. He decided on a black t-shirt featuring cover art from T. Rex’s 1971 album _Electric Warrior,_ having been introduced to the Muggle band when Sirius and Remus had commandeered the record player in the common room one night. 

When Remus saw him at lunch later that day, he noted that the shirt was a bit big on Regulus, but that his friend looked comfortable in his casual outfit. Usually, the boy wore a button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows as if it were the posh-people equivalent of sweatpants (maybe it was). Perhaps Remus could find another shirt in a similar style over the holiday break, and give it to Regulus as a Christmas gift when they returned to Hogwarts for winter term. Remus liked the idea of seeing him relax into life at school, instead of carrying himself with the stiff propriety expected at home. 

* * * * * 

**December 1973**

Over the holiday, Remus connected with the Marauders and Regulus by owl post. They discussed trivial things, such as what their mothers (or, for the Potters and Blacks, house-elves) had on the menu for Christmas dinner, dramatic family arguments, and what they’d received for presents. Remus was particularly pleased to receive a hand-made bookshelf from his father, as the shelf in his bedroom was past the point of overflowing. In an attempt to keep the room tidy, books had been stacked horizontally (shoved, really) atop those that were shelved vertically, and an ever-growing pile of paperbacks had been teetering at the foot of his bed for the better part of a year. 

Regulus was, to the surprise of no one, more gracious than Sirius to have received a new set of dress robes (in Slytherin green, as if their sorting into Gryffindor had never happened) and a book on the history of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Sirius had blown his top when he unwrapped his book, an ornate tome on courting etiquette in the wizarding world, because he “is only 14 years old, and the very idea of marriage makes me physically sick, goddammit!” (This outburst had been relayed to Remus in great detail by the younger Black.) 

Less exciting letters contained questions and comments on the assignments that had been sent home with the boys. Peter had declared it “barbaric” of their professors to give homework over the hols, to the agreement of all. The most distressing assignment, in Remus’ opinion, was for divination, which he had taken at the behest of Sirius and James. 

“Taking div would be a right laugh,” Sirius had insisted when they were considering what elective courses they might take at the end second year, and he had been correct. Reading tealeaves and staring into crystal balls in the same room as his best mates had been brilliant fun, up until this year. Now, Remus was being forced to record each and every detail of the dreams he could remember having in a journal, with weekly projects requiring interpretation of said dreams. 

This would have been alright if Remus’ dreams were anything like his classmates – having all your teeth fall out, or showing up for breakfast in the Great Hall in nothing but your pants. Sirius often boasted about dreams where he could fly, or of sunny afternoons frolicking the grounds of Hogwarts as Padfoot. Remus had nearly asked the wild-haired, bug-eyed Professor Trelawney if he would lose marks for submitting what amounted to a nightmare journal instead. 

His dreams were dark, both in content and in terms of lighting. Often, the stark whiteness of the full moon was his only source of light. Sometimes, he would be tearing through the Dark Forest in pursuit of something whose heartbeat was pounding in his ears. Other times, he would find himself transforming in the middle of a room occupied by his terrified classmates, who watched on in horror as sharp claws and teeth erupted from beneath his skin in a mess of blood and bone and pain. 

On more than one occasion, Remus had been shaken awake by one of his friends, who were kind enough to pretend he hadn’t just been screaming and thrashing around in his four-poster. That was currently the aspect of being a young werewolf that frustrated him the most: the dreams that tormented him even on the nights he was able to keep the wolf at bay, nights where the moon was just a pale fingernail in the sky above. His transformations were excruciating, but at least he had his friends in their Animagus forms to romp around with and keep him from tearing himself to shreds one night of each lunar cycle. In his dreams, he was helpless and alone. 

In recent weeks, his dreams had started to feature a new character, if that’s what you could call it – a boy with wavy black hair and quicksilver in his eyes, who stood defiantly in the face of the wolf. Remus had nearly screamed himself hoarse a few times, begging Regulus to get to safety. Thankfully, these dreams had only become a real issue since his return to Wales for the holiday, meaning that his parents were the only people to hear him call out for his best friend’s younger brother. When Hope, his kind and curious mother, had asked about Reg, Remus had lied through his teeth, saying that ‘Regulus’ was a new friend, and that was why his name kept coming to mind in his sleep. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his mother enough to tell her the truth about Regulus. No, it wasn’t that at all. Hope was an excellent secret keeper, and Remus knew that anything he shared with her would not get back to his father. In truth, Remus couldn’t stand the thought of being pitied. He was already a werewolf – it would do no good to add ‘possibly queer’ and ‘weirdly obsessed with a friend’s kid brother’ to his mother’s list of _Things to Feel Bad About on Remus Lupin’s Behalf._

So when his friends wrote letters asking how Remus was getting on with his dream journal and interpretation assignments, he invented dreams that could be interpreted in ways that weren’t so damning of his unconscious thoughts as those he had of Regulus dying by his own hand. He kept two journals: one for his actual dreams, which he would take a look at once he wasn’t so afraid of what they might mean; and a second with his censored and invented dreams, to hand in alongside his assignments. 

One night, after a particularly disturbing dream, Remus had fished the secret journal from where he had wrapped it in a ratty old shirt and stuffed it at the bottom of his wardrobe. He fetched his divination textbook, turned to the section on dream interpretation, and searched through the long list of symbols for…well, he wasn’t sure what exactly he was searching for yet. Confirmation of what he already knew deep down, perhaps? 

Grabbing a biro from his desk drawer, Remus scribbled out the list of symbols that matched the content of his dreams, which went as follows: 

\- Moon: hidden, mysterious aspects of self  
\- Wolf: desire to be left alone; situation or obsession beyond your control  
\- Death: significant change in relationship  
\- Howling: hidden fears; loneliness  
\- Water: emotional state of mind  
\- White (acacia?) flower: concealed love 

“Jesus fuck,” Remus cursed beneath his breath as he read the list over. _I’m a miserable, lonely sod, and I really have got a crush on Regulus bloody Black._

"Sirius is going to kill me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note that Remus is 14 and Regulus is 12, and at this point in the story, Remus' crush is really quite innocent. I hope this is clear. There won't be any explicit content in the story, though as they get older their relationship will evolve romantically.

**Author's Note:**

> Each subsequent chapter will be a time jump, so that the story covers about 10 years of the boys' lives. // Also, you might not believe it, but I've actually done up an outline for this fic, and know where I want to go with it. Never before has this occurred in the 2 years I've been writing and posting to AO3! #BetterLateThanNever?


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